


In the Name of Science

by argyle4eva



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-22
Updated: 2010-11-22
Packaged: 2017-10-13 07:59:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/134970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/argyle4eva/pseuds/argyle4eva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written to the <a href="http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/575.html?thread=1582399#t1582399">kinkmeme prompt</a>, "Sherlock likes to paint his nails pretty colours.  He likes it even better when John does it for him."</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Name of Science

**Author's Note:**

> Second chapter of "Powers and Might" is at the beta; meanwhile, this was written as off-the-cuff brain-cleaner because I had an actual idea of how to pull this off without it being *total* crack. Still, a G-rated kinkmeme fill? What was I thinking? ;)

“You realize that on some level this is sick and wrong, right?” John asked Sherlock.

Sherlock gave him a withering glare in return. “I fail to see what is sick and wrong about conducting a legitimate scientific experiment,” he said, going all lofty.

“You're asking me to paint your bloody nails!”

“Yes, ten out of ten for comprehension,” Sherlock said, after a moment to see if John had anything further to add. “So I can study wear patterns on the enamel as I go about various daily activities. It will be a valuable contribution to science, allowing me to reconstruct the recent activities of any victim or suspect wearing nail varnish. You have a surgeon's hands; who better to help me apply the test coats?”

Put that way it sounded so _logical_ . . . John wrenched himself back to reality. “It's just not – not – “

“Not what?”

“The sort of thing a bloke usually does for his mate,” John finished, sounding weak to his own ears.

“Really, John, I expected better of you. _I_ will be the one with painted nails, not you, and I'm not concerned about conforming to society's narrow-minded standards. Why should you be bothered?”

John pinched the bridge of his nose, knowing he was never going to win. “Fine. Just . . . fine. I'll do it.” He turned his attention to the neat row of little bottles, in a range of different brands and colors. “What first?”

Sherlock, without pausing to gloat over his victory (John had to grant him that much), considered. “The dark purple, second from the left.”

The bottle was in John's hand, but he fortunately hadn't unscrewed the lid yet, when Sherlock added, completely deadpan, “It will match my shirt _perfectly_.”

John fumbled the bottle, but managed to catch it midair. His uncertain glance at Sherlock turned to a full-fledged glower when he spotted the glint in Sherlock's pale eyes and realized he was being made fun of.

“All right, let's get this over with,” John growled, unscrewing the cap and readying the tiny brush. Sherlock obligingly held out a long, violin-calloused hand, mottled by faint (and not so faint) scars documenting a rather careless long-term relationship with blades, acids and fire. John couldn't think of a hand _less_ suited to adornment with Pearlescent Plum Passion, but he bent to the task with gritted teeth.

“Longitudinal brush strokes for the first coat,” Sherlock supplied, “followed by perpendicular strokes for the second.”

“Yes, all right,” John said, but the brush was shaking ever so slightly, the tremor in his left hand betraying his annoyance.

“Pretend it's a life and death situation,” Sherlock said, eyes still glinting. “That we're on the trail of a crazed manicurist, and this is the only weapon at hand.”

“Not sure how anyone'd use a nail polish brush as a lethal weapon,” John replied, “but if you keep this up, I'm sure I'll think of something.” All the same, his left hand steadied. “Now shut up and let me work.”

He couldn't help noticing – and hating himself for noticing – that Sherlock was right: the color absolutely did match his shirt.

Even worse, he realized he'd be recommending Sherlock wear the pink-stripe shirt when it came time to test the Rambling Rose Ravishment.

 _God,_ he thought as he drew careful, parallel, longitudinal brush-strokes, _the things I do for science._


End file.
